The Verdict
by Lucifer's Garden
Summary: She always knew there was something magnetic about his stare – dark and compelling, completely the opposite of Andy’s penetrating look – that always made it difficult for people to return it. Now, for the life of her, she can’t look away. One shot B/A


Mindless Bender/Allison fluff! It's not my best, and I kinda rushed through it, but I simply had to get it out of my head. I might come back and make some minor adjustments in the future, when I have more time. Feedback is, of course, always welcome (especially since Bender is so damn hard to write).

I can't believe how few Bender/Allison stories are out there. It's a shame, I think they would have rocked as a couple. Ah well, I guess that's why we have fanfiction! I also decided to incorporate a few lines from the Foo Fighters song 'Everlong', which has always reminded me of these two. The acoustic version is beautiful, for anyone interested.

_The Breakfast Club_ belongs to the late and great John Hughes.

Enjoy!

_**The Verdict**_

_Come down and waste away with me_

_Down with me_

_Slow how you wanted it to be_

_I'm over my head, out of her head she sang_

Allison peers at him over the top of her sketchbook and taps her chin with the pencil.

They make quite a pair, she inwardly muses, squeezing together on his sagging mattress. John, lying on his back with, guitar in hand, feet propped up against the wall above his pillows. She is beside him, back to the wall with her knees drawn up, always trying to take up as little space as possible.

The dank smell in this room used to drive her crazy, but after countless lazy afternoons and unspoken nights, it has become a comfort. Now she loves the water stains on the ceiling, and the cigarette burns on the carpet, the rock and roll posters and even the cutout centerfolds strategically placed to mask the holes in the wall. It's all just so . . . 'John'.

"Is that a song about Claire?" she asks, trying not to lend any significance to the idea.

His fingers freeze over the strings for only an instant, before he gives a lazy half shrug. "Not really. Just making it up as I go."

If Brian were here, and not in Europe on a reluctant family vacation, John would have flatly said 'no'. With Allison, though, he can afford to be less of a tough guy, mostly because they both know she wouldn't buy it.

"You never wear the earring anymore."

"What amazing powers of observation," he drawls. "I tossed it a few months ago."

He never told her about that. Allison frowns a little and goes back to drawing him. She notes the guitar on his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes, wishing she could capture it on paper. Drawing him is hard, she finds. The finished product never comes out looking exactly like him, as though he has some indefinable essence that can only be sensed in person. She can draw his longish brown hair, his dark eyes, that knowing smirk, the torn jeans, combat boots, cigarette . . . and yet there is always something missing that makes it inherently not him.

"Not much point in keeping it," he goes on, more to himself than to her.

She ducks her head a little, a habit stretching back to the time when it meant that her hair would swing across her eyes, now only partially lined with that 'black shit' Claire hated. But her hair is brushed away from her face now, because she can't forget the way Andy had looked at her that day. It annoys her that she still cares, but she makes up for it by hanging on to fragments of her old bag lady look. She still prefers shapeless sweaters, leggings, skirts, and mismatched socks to bows and lacey white tops.

"I kept his letterman patch."

This time he tilts his head to look at her. "What the hell for?"

"I keep everything." She still has his knife, and his lock. He never asked for them back.

"Yeah, but . . ." He trails off a little before sitting upright. "Isn't it, like, a bad reminder? Sporto didn't exactly man up for you, Ally-may."

Allison keeps her eyes down. "No," she admits. "He didn't."

For a moment it is Monday, four months ago, and she is walking down the hall outside the science lab with her heart in her throat. Andy is leaning against the school's trophy case, surrounded by a wall of friends, and he doesn't notice her until she is almost right in their midst. Their eyes meet, hold for a split second, and then his cloud over and he looks away from her. He is ashamed, and can't even open his mouth to protest when one of his friends tells her to buzz off.

John is still looking at her. "You wanna remember it anyway?" he asks incredulously.

"Just the good parts."

"Like what?" He notes the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks, and laughs in spite of himself. "No way. He kissed you, didn't he."

"Shut up," she mumbles, which only cracks him up even more.

"How was it?" he asks, still smirking. "Did Golden Boy sweep you off your feet?"

She shrugs uncomfortably. "I don't know. Nice, I guess. I don't have anything else to compare it to."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Romeo's the one and only?"

"Does that surprise you?" she counters dryly.

"All right, no," he concedes with a half-smile. "But still . . . that's messed up."

Allison rolls her eyes. "We can't all be walking hormones, John."

He nudges her leg with his boot – the closest thing to a conciliatory gesture she has come to expect from him. "Hey, I'm not dissing you or anything. I'm just surprised. Maybe it's 'cause I know you, but I would've thought . . ."

"What?" she asks, peering up at him from under her lashes.

Something changes in his smile, and for some reason her heart starts beating a little bit faster. He sets the guitar aside and scoots forward on the mattress, never taking his eyes off her.

She always knew there was something magnetic about his stare – dark and compelling, completely the opposite of Andy's penetrating look – that always made it difficult for people to return it. Now, for the life of her, she can't look away.

"Wanna find out?" he asks.

"Find out what?"

She watches him bite the inside of his cheek to keep his grin in check. "Just how good your boy was."

He is as close as he can get without touching her, and she realizes with a stab of affection that he is offering her a chance to pull away. Everything about him seems so invasive, one naturally assumes he is as aggressive with girls as he is towards the rest of the world. He's good-looking and charismatic enough that plenty even think to say no, and he knows this. He also knows that if he isn't careful, he could abuse it one day. More than anything, he never wants to see a girl look at him the way his mom looks at his dad.

He leans forward by mere inches, moving so agonizingly slow that Allison can hardly breathe. The last bit of space between them belongs to her, though, and John hovers patiently in wait for her to cross over. He looks . . . almost vulnerable. As vulnerable as he can get away with and still be John Bender.

_Breathe out_

_So I can breathe you in_

_Hold you in_

Bracing herself, Allison moves in and presses her lips to his, feeling his stubble and warm skin and smelling the natural hardness of him.

A few seconds pass, and he pulls back just enough to be able to look her in the eye. "So," he murmurs, sending shivers up her spine. Their noses are still touching. "What's the verdict?"

She doesn't know why, but suddenly she can't stop shaking. "W-well, he kind of . . . held me a little, too."

His answering chuckle is deep and throaty, and he hooks his arms around her waist before hauling her into his lap as though she weighs nothing at all. She is surprised by the boldness of it, and laughs nervously. There is something so wonderfully _solid_ about him that for these past four months she had to continuously remind herself not to lean against him or touch him too often. Now, judging by how possessively he arranges her on top of him, she wonders if he would have minded so much.

_And I wonder_

_When I sing along with you_

_If everything could ever feel this real forever_

_If anything could ever be this good again_

One of his hands rises to cup the back of her head, gently pulling her back down to meet him. He is more adventurous this time, and she gives a thrilled squeak when his other hand dips around the back to cop a feel. When his tongue insistently flicks at her bottom lip, she opens her mouth without thinking, and a shudder passes through him that makes her feel incredibly powerful.

She bites him. _Take that_.

He grunts and abruptly draws back, looking up at her with a mixture of awe and amusement.

"How 'bout now?"

She leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

"Better."

_The only thing I'll ever ask of you_

_You've got to promise not to stop when I say when_

_She sang_


End file.
